


Wrongfully Right

by Narryfavoritejiall



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Plot Twists, References to Drugs, Secret Relationship, Self-Denial, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Young Quentin, i guess?, quentin is a good guy, rich people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narryfavoritejiall/pseuds/Narryfavoritejiall
Summary: A current thought that invades constantly burdened him as Peter shifted closer and kissed Quentin's chin, and that is; was this Peter's plan all along?To make Quentin weak and give up before those expressive eyes, gentle touches and a passionate craving for a forbidden affair?It's easier to pretend this isn't wrong.Because, they're just too weak to stop.I'm posting again because I was reading through it and I corrected several typos that made me cringe :p
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 17
Kudos: 46





	Wrongfully Right

**Author's Note:**

> I worked in this for like a week lol bare with me and I hope you enjoy Xo

Quentin stood outside Peter's bedroom door, he leaned against the frame as he watched the other lazily putting on a hoodie down his naked torso. Quentin cleared his throat. That made Peter notice him. Peter walked up to him and stopped in front of him.

Peter stood close to him. Too close. His face is still puffy from sleeping or crying. Quentin doesn't know. 

Quentin eyed him up and down briefly, Peter just cranked his neck to look up to him. He sighed and started playing with a loose string on Quentin's sweater. Quentin knows that's just an excuse to touch him –Quentin wouldn't complain.

Peter got closer, till Beck could see better the feckless doting his nose, "Are they gone?" 

The older boy hummed.

"You aren't pissed anymore?"

He hummed again.

Peter nodded, he lowered his gaze for a second before he stood on his tiptoes and placed a dry kiss on the corner of Quentin's lips. He did that twice. He then grabbed Quentin's hands and started playing with the large fingers. Peter always does that. Quentin wanted to reach out to brush a non-existent eyelash on Peter's cheek, just an excuse to have contact with him too. He crossed his arms instead. 

"Can you drive me to school?"

"Again?" Quentin raised his eyebrows.

"Please," Peter mumbled. He rested his chin on his chest and looked up at Quentin in an awkward angle. Quentin's lips curved slightly.

"I leave in fifteen minutes."

Peter nodded, "I'll be ready."

Quentin was going kiss him properly but they heard the maid walking down the hall and they separated and turned their head away quite fastly. Peter gave him a short look before he pushed past him, he headed off to the bathroom and disappeared inside the room just as Linda encountered Quentin.

"Good morning, Mr. Beck." 

He nodded at her politely.

When Beck walked past the bathroom at the end of the hallway, he wasn't too surprised when he saw Peter left the door opened, he showered with cold water apparently because the glass wasn't fogging and Quentin could see the naked body glistening with water and soap. Peter didn't notice him, Quentin just shook his head and pushed his hair back in a nervous manner. 

The pit of his stomach burned. His hands sweated and his hunger was insatiable. Quentin promised himself he would stop. 

Oh, he knows so well he won't.

. 

Peter looks good in the school's uniform.

The cotton sweater over the white dress shirt and grey pants complementing themselves with black oxfords make Peter look almost pristine. _Sexy._ In the way a schoolboy should look like, cute and easy –as if he is innocent enough as a seventeen-year-old should be. The uniform covers well the barbarities a teenager like Peter can commit, you couldn't tell Peter could be the one doing a line or fucking on a public bathroom. 

Quentin knows well who Peter is. He doesn't get fooled anymore.

But, overall Peter looks good in the uniform. 

Quentin _likes_ how Peter looks and how he represents himself. He looks even younger and naive.

Quentin once told Peter to leave the uniform on to fuck.

He watches the videos and pictures Peter sends him in his school uniform, they aren't necessarily grotesque all the time. He resorts to them when he is bored and lonely when he is in his dorm and the excess stress college brings him, or he just watches and jerks off to them because his hook-ups and ex-girlfriend weren't living to his expectations and desires. Not like Peter.

_Damnit._

Peter does lives to his expectations.

Quentin reached to his side and rested a hand on Peter's thigh. He kept a hand on the steering wheel and briefly looked at Peter who was texting away on his phone. 

Peter parted his legs slightly, allowing Quentin's hand to rest in the inside of his thigh instead, unnecessarily high up. His thumb brushed the covered skin and Peter's leg shifted involuntarily.

The radio played Peter's playlist. Peter hummed along with it, while he looked at the passing trees outside his window. Peter looked like he was pretending Beck's hand wasn't _too_ close to his crotch and that Peter wasn't the one guiding the hand further up until it rested in-between his legs.

Quentin pretended too that he didn't hear the pleased sigh or that he felt the tight grip on his wrist as Peter pushed against his palm. 

It's easier to pretend this isn't wrong.

Because, they're just too weak to stop.

"Do you have someone to drive you back?" Quentin asked once he parked outside the school.

Peter was looking at himself in the mirror and fixing his hair to leave it to rest tightly on one side, his cheeks were kind of flushed. He didn't answer right away, he didn't even glare at Quentin.

"Huh?"

"What?" Peter opened the door.

"Is someone driving you back?" There was a hint of annoyance on Quentin's tone. 

Peter shrugged, "Brad will drive me, I think." 

"I don't like Brad." 

"I know," The younger boy rolled his eyes, "He doesn't like you either."

"Fuck him," He rolled his eyes too. 

"I will." 

Quentin watched him get out of the seat and shrug on his backpack. He expected Peter to slam the door and run off to the building, but instead, he ducked inside the car and quickly leaned in, to peck Quentin's cheek.

Brown eyes looked at him and the thin lips stretched into a shy grin, "Thank you for the ride, B." 

He didn't answer. He just watched Peter took off with a clumsy jog until he reached the entry where a group of kids was hanging out in. Quentin drove off when he saw Peter hugging that Brad kid. 

The car was left smelling like Peter's expensive perfume and Quentin knew he smelled like it too.

.

College has been fun, but he misses Peter. 

That's why he decided to stay at the house as soon as he got a vacation. 

Peter received him warmly the first day –When the house was left alone (like it often is) Peter wouldn't stop clinging to him, giggling and kissing Quentin all over his face, mumbling how much he missed him and how much he needed him. Peter asked him all about college and new friends, Quentin didn't tell him about his ex-girlfriend because he knows how Peter would get.

Quentin still gets a little affected by the way Peter looks up at him, as if he hung the fucking sky, with the pretty brown gleaming with slow blinking. Quentin wanted to tell him how much Peter's absence gets to him more than it should. But he didn't, he wouldn't want to make Peter believe this thing going on between them is something _more than._

He just let Peter rest his head on his lap as they talked. And, when they got bored Quentin let Peter ride him on the couch, right there in the living room, where their maid or Quentin's mom could walk in at any moment, but–

"That's what exciting, isn't it?" Peter had whispered. 

Indeed it is. 

. 

There were two knocks on the door that made Beck look up from the book he was reading, shortly after the door was opening and Peter was peaking his head inside, he looked sleepy. Quentin looked at his phone screen and read the hour, the clock had just hit one a.m. 

"What?" He asked quietly. 

"Can I come in?" 

Quentin nodded. He doesn't know why does Peter even asks, he knows Quentin will let him in nevertheless. Maybe it's a formality of sorts. The door was shut and locked, Quentin heard the soft clicking. 

Quentin shouldn't wonder why Peter locked the door. 

The boy pulled at his sweatshirt sleeves lower on his hands as he strode across the wide room until he reached the end of the bed, he walked on his knees and Quentin stretched an arm which Peter was quick to flop down against his side and use his arm as a pillow without a second thought. 

Quentin _tried_ to read his book. But, his eyes just wandered over the words aimlessly. 

How could he possibly concentrate? 

When a wandering hand ran down Quentin's chest and stomach innocently, without no sexual intend, just caressing and appreciating Quentin's form. Peter then placed a leg over Quentin's and his breath hit the side of his neck; Quentin rubbed his arm with rough fingertips in exchange. 

He could feel Peter's wide eyes looking at him. He ignored it. Until Peter spoke, soft and precise. 

"I don't wanna fight anymore." 

Quentin shut his book, "Neither do I." 

"You'll be gone soon and I hate to fight as if we were–" 

_Don't_ say brothers. 

"I know," He said almost firmly. 

Peter sighed, "I'm sorry I'm being bitchy. It's the teenage hormones and all, I guess," 

Quentin chuckled and twisted his head to look down at him. The brown eyes were already set on him; Quentin's smile died down, but not because he wasn't pleased, but because the sight of Peter's pretty boyish features was worth admiring and crying for maybe. 

"We're cool?" Peter's smile was toothy. 

Quentin hummed effortlessly, still looking. He brought a finger down Peter's face, tenderly and carefully as if he could possibly break into dust, he pushed back the wet loose curls and Quentin wondered if Peter showered for him and put on loads of cologne. He probably did. 

A current thought that invades constantly burdened him as Peter shifted closer and kissed Quentin's chin, and that is; was this Peter's plan all along? 

To make Quentin weak and give up before those expressive eyes, gentle touches and a passionate craving for a forbidden affair? 

Quentin even puts up with - loves, perhaps-the negative side of Peter's personality such as the careless way he can act sometimes or the bratty attitude that Peter poses by nature because he is a kid who is used to get what he wants and whenever he wants, so Quentin is sure Peter was certain about getting Quentin without a put-up fight, because he was who Peter wanted. That should be enough for the universe to comply with his wishes. 

And Quentin sometimes hates himself for giving in so quickly and without a second thought –but could you _really_ blame him if he let Peter in his system and soul when Peter entered his room in the middle of that stormy night and got naked under the covers for Quentin to feel, feel and _feel,_ and show him what Quentin's been missing and wanting without Quentin even knowing he even did. 

He literally found his muse when he wasn't looking for it. 

Damn you, Peter Parker. 

. 

Peter's fingers rested just under the rim of Quentin's underwear, cold and soft, he is nibbling at Quentin's jaw playfully, trying to bite at the growing beard there. 

Then, Peter sighed and pulled away completely to get on his back; he looked at the ceiling and didn't stop Quentin when he got on his elbow and started kissing his prominent collarbones and neck sloppily. 

"I kinda want you but I'm tired." 

"Then sleep," Quentin looked down at him. 

Peter didn't need persuasion, he shut his eyes and turned on his side until his back was facing Quentin, the bed cringed when Quentin moved too. He laid himself behind Peter to get his nose to smell the untangled hair in the back of his head and to hug him loosely close. Peter grabbed his hand and pulled it against his chest to embrace it tightly. He kissed it when Beck kissed the top of his head. 

"I missed you." 

"Me too," Quentin whispered. 

He couldn't shut his eyes and sleep when Peter was right there. 

. 

Quentin's hometown friends invited him to a party, he accepted but quickly changed his mind when Peter told him over breakfast if Quentin could accompany him to buy new clothes at the mall – Peter doesn't need any more clothes, by far. He has enough, more than, but Quentin knows how Peter's friends are, how his school is and how easily he lets himself be influenced, besides, it's not like they don't have the money to buy unnecessary items. 

Peter's dad alway gives him money and expensive gifts to make up for the lost time he spends working and traveling. 

So, Quentin thinks it's alright. 

That's why he came here, to visit Peter, even if he is trying to convince himself that he is here for his family and friends too. He has barely seen them, though. His time, body and mind are being consumed greedily by Peter. 

Quentin can't find the strength to complain. 

"How's this one?" Peter opened his arms.

The older boy eyed him shortly and shrugged, "A little tight, but it looks alright."

Peter rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning the beige, satin dress shirt, "This is the size I always wear but MJ told me I have gained weight." 

He frowned funnily. 

Quentin saw Peter looking at himself in the mirror with a sour expression before he flopped his arms on his side and let out a frustrated breath. 

"She's right, I look fat now." 

He snorted, "She's a fucking idiot." 

"I'm serious, Beck," Peter shut the changing room's curtain sharply, "I can't believe I'm gonna have to size up." 

They're in some fancy store in the middle Soho and Quentin has been sitting in the comfy bench in front of the changing room for almost thirty minutes, he already finished a Starbucks coffee he bought and the two paper bags with brand-name written over them are being held by him to help Peter with the things he is purchasing. 

Quentin hates Soho, his mother insists on shopping here too and he wants Quentin to consume from these stores and he will forever refuse. But, Peter isn't the same. He is more keen towards this lifestyle, more than Quentin will ever be; one of the many differences they have. 

"Do you want me to tell the lady to bring you another size?" 

"No," Peter said shortly. 

Then, Quentin heard something falling behind the curtain and Peter swore as there was more shifting; Quentin saw the beige satin shirt being thrown to the ground. He sighed and stood up. 

With a soft knock on the wood, Quentin spoke, "You okay?" 

There wasn't an answer. 

"Pete." 

Still, no words. 

"Petey," Quentin sighed again. 

Suddenly, the curtain was being opened harshly and Peter stood there with arms crossed across his naked chest, _"What?"_

There was a tiny frown on his forehead and his mouth was pursed. Angry doesn't suit Peter but Quentin still thinks he looks cute.

"You okay?" He repeated. 

The shorter boy looked down, "I don't like how I look with that shirt –or _anything_." 

"You look great," Quentin said softly, "You always do." 

"I'm getting fat." 

"Nonsense." 

Quentin isn't lying –Peter did put on a little weight but a _healthy_ weight. Before leaving for college, Peter was way too skinny from those stupid diets he and his friend Michelle always seem to be doing. Now he looks better, but of course, Peter's friends had to be assholes about it. 

The younger boy looked at him with red, teary eyes and a small pout. Quentin got the hurtful urge to reach up and hold his cheek with a careful hold, to try and comfort him, but he knew the lady helping them was loitering around. Quentin's hand clenched, just like his chest.

"Who is putting this kind of bullshit inside your head?" He found himself asking though he already knew the answer. 

Peter shrugged, "They are right." 

"You know they aren't – Don't be stupid." 

Peter scoffed and tried to turn around in a precipitated rush, but Quentin quickly stopped him by stepping inside and providing them privacy by closing the curtain, Peter pushed him away and stepped back. 

"Hey, hey, sorry, okay?" He said quietly, "I just –think this is _ridiculous_." 

"It's not," Peter said in the same tone. 

"It is." 

Silence fell over them for a split moment, Peter was still shirtless and Quentin was holding his arms, the room was warm, but maybe it just was the tension and their bodies this close together. Peter's face flushed and Quentin wanted to kiss it cold.

Peter sometimes thinks of himself like he is hideous and not enough while Quentin thinks he is almost perfect and it's made out of vanilla. 

Quentin made a funny face and Peter forced himself to not smile. He leaned in to kiss his forehead daintily and Peter visibly relaxed. He tilted his head and quickly pecked Quentin's lips before looking down again. Quentin didn't find the will to scold him, they were in public but at least they were in a secluded space. 

Peter gave him a shy, impish smile. It made Quentin's lips quirk up too. 

"Are you better?" 

Peter nodded. 

"You look hot in these," Quentin mumbled, tugging at the hem of the black jeans. 

"Buy them for me." 

"I thought your dad gave you money." 

The younger boy grinned wickedly and leaned in fastly to deliver a sloppy kiss on Quentin's mouth. He tried to hug his shoulders and grab at him but Quentin held his hands and pushed them away. He tried to step back but the other was reluctant. 

"Pete..." 

"Let's do it here," Peter murmured against his ear. 

"Not here. You'll be loud," Quentin smirked. 

"I won't." 

"You will."

Peter giggled and hid his face on Quentin's chest, "Fine," His voice was muffled. 

"Let's get out of here," He suggested. 

But Peter glared at him again. He looked small. Quentin didn't move. Peter blinked slowly and he spoke in a small voice. 

"Do you love me?" 

_Oh,_ Quentin would an irrational man if he didn't. 

Peter ended up being pushed against the wall with Quentin's hand covering his mouth as they became one. 

. 

"Sometimes I feel like you hate me." 

Peter once said that to Quentin, with tears and all, because –yeah, sometimes it seems that Quentin can't even stand Peter. 

But that isn't true. That could never be true. 

He used to be mean and distant towards Peter, to kind of help his growing feelings towards him go away. It never helped, the hunger and want were still there, he only ended up hurting Peter and his little sweet heart. 

Quentin remembers how Peter would knock on his door and bring him homemade snacks after Quentin had a bad day at work, he remembers how he would yell at Peter to go fuck off and Peter would always have this broken expression in his face. 

Quentin is way past that, he found out there's no salvation or cure for his wrongful need towards Peter. 

Though, sometimes Quentin thinks Peter is taking revenge on how Quentin treated him. 

Quentin can only stare and dive in jealously when Peter is kissing others, he can mourn when he hooks up with others, he tolerates the spoiled behavior and crude remarks; Peter acts as if he is the only person in the world Quentin could ever want and have. 

And, fuck –how right he is. 

Peter is the only person Quentin wants and Peter knows that. He takes advantage of _that_. 

So, Quentin let him have his way. He is a weak man. 

. 

"Tell me you love me," Peter said. 

Quentin pretended to be asleep still. 

. 

The neon signs mixed with flickering lights, the music was too loud and it was almost too hot. Quentin could barely see, hear and walk through the people. Curious hands grazed him as he made his way out of the spot where people were dancing, he used his height for advantage as he scanned the room. The red was the prominent color and he could barely recognize the faces. 

Until. 

_Until._

He spotted who he was looking for. Quentin frowned and he felt himself clenching his jaw; he should just turn around and leave but he walked there nonetheless. 

Peter was hanging out in the VIP sitting booths with some people Quentin didn't recognize. Peter was irreverently straddling a guy's lap, they were heatedly making out and Quentin could see a cigarette hanging off their hands. Nobody seemed to care about that sight and that was all Quentin could see. 

The guy's hands were touching Peter in a way that was far from decent –Quentin asked the universe why was Peter letting himself be touched like _that_ in a place like _this_ and by someone who isn't _him._

Again, he could just turn back around and leave. 

But, he didn't. He won't. He is a masochistic apparently because he is only staring and fuck does it hurts too bad. 

Quentin walked up to them just as the guy said something on Peter's ear and Peter threw his head back, laughing. They were about to kiss again but the guy separated to smoke and in the process, he caught Quentin's eyes —the guy (that was probably around Peter's age and Quentin didn't care how they let in underage kids in a nightclub) seemed to pale a little bit and widen his eyes. 

Quentin would have smirk but he is too pissed. People still recognize him and are intimidated by him, they feel inferior when they know he is the son of –

"B, you made it!" Peter yelled over the music. He pushed the guy away and stood up as if the guy was nothing and as if Peter didn't care about him, he probably doesn't. 

Because Quentin knew he will always be Peter's infatuation and preference. 

Quentin was still staring at the guy as he stumbled back slightly because Peter was hugging him. He nodded at the guy to the other way as if to tell him to piss off. He did, he stood up and scurried away quickly. Quentin didn't feel like picking a fight tonight and the last time he did he embarrassed Peter so he doesn't want to that. 

"I thought you'd never came," Peter held his face and smiled widely. 

"We're in public," Quentin said shortly and pulled away. 

Peter just stared at him. His pupils were blown wide and they were darker than usual, he was sweating and his curls were laying on his forehead messily. 

"You're high." 

The younger boy rolled his eyes and giggled, he then leaned in to talk against Quentin's ear, wet lips brushing there made him shiver, "I'm having fun." 

Quentin pulled back to look at him. Peter was probably on E. Quentin couldn't find the power to be upset, he used to be like that himself and Peter knew. Peter is following his steps as he grows and that's why Quentin is trying to be a better man. 

"Who was that guy?"

"No one," Peter shrugged, heavy-lidded eyes gazed at Quentin, "You're here now." 

That was enough explanation. 

"I wanna dance," The boy tugged at his hand, "Take me to dance." 

Quentin said that they were in public again. 

"Everyone's is on coke or drunk –Everyone is looking at _no one_." 

"It's dangerous, Peter." 

"Have some fun, old man, come on!" Peter whined and stumped his food like a child, "You barely do anymore." 

Beck just stared. 

"Please? For me? Have a little fun?" Peter's hands rested on Quentin's belly. He didn't pull away this time. Quentin sighed in defeat. 

"Just two songs and then I'll go." 

Quentin wished he could say _We'll go_ but he couldn't, he doesn't have that kind of power over Peter. He is a free man. 

Peter nodded enthusiastically and hugged his shoulders with one arm, he had to stand on his tiptoes to do so; he pointed at his table and said to Quentin's ear:

"Do a line. Like you used to." 

Remember that bit where Quentin said he wanted to be a better man? Well, it went to utter hell, because Quentin is no good man and maybe he is just pretending to avoid some heavy guilt because he didn't need persuasion or encouragement to walk up to the table, push some guy away and bend over to do what Peter told him to. 

He felt relief and contentment. Because he stopped himself and the overthinking his brain tends to torment him with, went away. 

Peter was there kissing his ear and dragging him to the poorly illuminated dance floor, looking at Quentin as if he was his only salvation and endearment. 

Because, yes, maybe Quentin brought that to him. 

. 

They are both sweating, abnormally so. But it doesn't matter. Their heartbeat is too fast to be considered safe. But they don't care. Their eyes are giving away their current state. But they didn't notice. 

Because they were together and close. In the right now and forever. 

Quentin couldn't take off his eyes and hands from Peter, it almost burned him. He kept smelling and licking his neck like an animal, letting his inner conscience take charge and maybe all coherent reasoning evaporated like the smoke coming out of Quentin's cigarettes. 

They didn't care _who_ they were, _where_ they were and _what_ they were to each other –it was almost as everyone and everything was invisible and they were the only ones left; to enjoy and taste each other. 

The possibility of someone recognizing them didn't even cross their heads, nor did they gave a shit. 

As long as everybody knew they were just two people dancing too closely and kissing like two fugitives in love. 

Oh, Quentin was so in love. 

Peter had turned around at some point, his back was pasted to Quentin's chest, they moved lithely and slowly, reeking sensuality as Quentin came to hug Peter and rest his hand on his firm belly. Peter was so fucking high and he couldn't seem to get enough of the drug and Quentin. Perhaps, Quentin was his favorite drug. 

They danced and danced, as they do in secluded places and it felt so _fucking good_ to do it in front of everyone else, to show whom Peter belong to and how Quentin could be the only one to please him. 

This is so wrong and Quentin should hate himself, but he can't; not when he has Peter. 

The younger boy rested his head back on Quentin's shoulder to deliver slightly slurred out words against his ear. 

"Touch me." 

Beck let his hand travel from his chest to his throat, he held a firm grip there. He could feel Peter's pulse on his thumb and Quentin shamefully loved the power and control he felt in his addicted system. 

Peter rested his hands on Beck's arms, he pushed his hips back and rubbed his backside on Quentin's tented slacks. 

They both chased their lips at the same time and they kiss with heat and desperation, maybe there was too much tongue and teeth but that was made it _theirs_ and this moment was just for them. 

Quentin is an addicted man, for that burning passion towards the wrong of their relationship and the taste of Peter's mouth and skin – he tastes like he looks, sweet like honey and strong like cinnamon. 

"Get me out of here." 

Quentin did. 

And it didn't matter that they ended up in the bathroom of that pretentious nightclub for rich people, the buzzing music seemed too much, it didn't matter that people kept entering while they stood stuck in a stall, Quentin forgot to be the adult and behave like one; because this and Peter was making him feel alive. 

The voices and laughs outside sounded distant to his head, he rather keeps kissing and trapping Peter against the wall than paying attention to his surroundings. Peter couldn't stop giggling and biting Quentin's lips, he tried to shush him but it was pointless because Quentin was falling into the same state soon after. 

Quentin's slacks were already unbuttoned and he didn't know when did that happen, his hands were gripping Peter's hips and he was nibbling and kissing at the pale neck, he tasted like cologne and sweat. Quentin couldn't get enough, he gripped the frizzy curls and pulled Peter's head back. 

Peter gasped and encouraged him for more, his own hands gripped the collars of Quentin's chest, pulling him close. 

"You're gonna fucking kill me." 

The younger boy smiled drunkenly as an answer and pulled Quentin down for a kiss. Quentin pushed him away to look at him. 

"What do you want from me?" He isn't thinking right. 

"You." 

It was plain and simple, it made Quentin feel stupid and proud at the same time –he just wants to know the _why_?... Why does Peter want this so bad? Why can't Quentin say no and run away? 

"I love you," Peter whimpered like he used to do when he was a kid and he would get mad at Quentin for being rude to him. 

Quentin held his jaw and tilted his head up, the brown eyes that usually look wide innocent and sweet, are now half-closed and bloodshot red. They seem to be eating up Quentin and Quentin isn't too far behind. Peter dragged a hand down his chest, playing with the buttons until he reached the opened zipper, he stuck a hand inside Quentin's pants to grip his arousal, Quentin let him. He is no strong man with willpower. He got closer and breathed in close to the younger face. 

He hates that he loves the mischievous, corrupted little grin Peter gives. He hates that Peter knows Quentin loves it. 

Quentin loved the innocent Peter but lately, he loves the corrupted one better. 

His hand stood large on Peter's face and Quentin got the sudden urge to run his thumb over Peter's bottom lip, he dragged it down and before he could leave it alone, Peter twisted his head and licked Quentin's finger broadly. Quentin let him and watched him do it again. 

" _Fuck_ ," He muttered. 

Peter was grabbing his hand with his own and directing towards his mouth; he started sucking his thumb, then did the same with the other fingers, he didn't stop looking at Quentin even though when he started drooling, Peter seemed out of it but at the same time so aware. He looks like when he enjoys a watermelon popsicle in summer or when he is sucking Quentin's dick in the comfiness of his room. Peter looked happy, he shut his eyes when the other started fucking his fingers inside his mouth unconsciously. 

Quentin didn't move. He stared. Like a depraved man with no recognition of reality at all. 

The gag echoing seemed to be a waking call. Quentin's wet fingers gripped Peter's jacket and he kissed him stupid emotional. It was sloppy and ardent, Peter started crying for some reason and Quentin held him as if he could break as if he could disappear or turn into dust. Quentin held onto him like he loves him. 

Because he does. 

"Fuck me," Peter whispered, "I don't care." 

He didn't feel like this was fair –Peter doesn't deserve to be fucked in a bathroom stall, he deserves Quentin to make love to him, under their sheets, under the stark light that made the pale skin shine. 

So, Quentin drove them to the house and sneaked into Peter's room. 

To give Peter what he deserves. 

. 

Quentin remembers the first night Peter crawled into his bed, all wet kissy lips and inexperienced hands. 

Peter said he wanted it. He said Quentin wanted it too even if Quentin hadn't said a word. Peter was right, he always is, he is the only one able to read Quentin without a single mistake. 

All peccancy, guilt, and wrongdoing of that humid night were forgotten as soon as their lips touched and naked flesh came in contact with one another. It was like a break from reality and a trip to paradise. Like Quentin found what he was looking for and all despair disappeared and converted into smoke. 

Peter told him that he wanted Quentin to be his first. He told Quentin that they could be in the dark, on his hands and knees so Quentin wasn't forced to see his face – how incongruent and ridiculous would that be? 

The nightlamp stayed on and Quentin laid above Peter with their faces inches apart. Their breathy sounds of pleasure mixed together and Peter didn't seem able to let go of Quentin. 

Right then and there, he truly understood the art of living. 

. 

The house was alone like it usually is, just the maid, Quentin, and Peter were present. It's better like this. 

Quentin and Peter were playing videogames in his room - Peter seems to be spending a lot of time in his room lately- until Quentin twisted his head, attention to the television already lost because he was giving sweet pecks to the side of Peter's neck. Peter kept playing with dumb fingers as he tilted his head and delivered a soft sigh.

One thing led to another and Quentin ended up laying fatly on the floor, he is sure his back will protest later but that thought didn't cross his mind when all he could look at was Peter bouncing up and down on his lap. Quentin's hands were resting up Peter's chest and Peter's own held them there as his head was thrown back and he let fuzzy arousal overcome him.

Peter was loud and Quentin didn't hush him. 

Quentin is almost sure that the maid knows about this - _them_ \- but had just decided to keep quiet.

Good, she must know what Quentin and Peter are capable of doing with money and power. 

"I thought you quit," The younger boy mumbled tiredly.

Quentin shrugged, letting out the smoke from his mouth, "I do it from time to time."

Peter rolled his eyes and laid his leg over Quentin's body, "I don't like how you taste when you smoke," He said it like a little child throwing a tantrum.

He chuckled, "Yeah?"

Peter nodded and stood up dramatically from the floor when Quentin tried to kiss him. He watched his naked back and wobbly ass go to the bathroom in Quentin's room, he heard the shower running and stood up too, chasing Peter's trail. 

Quentin stopped smoking that day. 

. 

They went to Coney Island the other day because Peter said he wanted to do something special before Quentin's inevitable absence arrives. 

The secretly held hands. It was nice, it was too crowded and they passed unnoticed. It was cold and Quentin felt free enough to open his jacket and let Peter hug him to try and close the jacket around them to keep themselves warm.

They couldn't win any game so Quentin bought that silly stuffed animal that Peter wanted so badly. He kissed Quentin when he showed him it.

Quentin couldn't stop looking at Peter, a smile was forcing his lips to stay quirked up. 

They almost forgot completely their need to hide and pretend.

Until Quentin had to push Peter away in a polite manner when Peter was being top touchy. It did hurt him because Peter looked hurt and disappointed. But Peter didn't protest because he knew too that Quentin was doing the right thing. Reality hurt but Quentin didn't want that to get to them.

At some point, they sneaked into a photo booth. They spend almost fifteen minutes there and ten minutes were left to make out in the weirdly comfortable dark and tiny space. Peter convinced Quentin to take the pictures that the booth offered. In the end, each one got a pair and Quentin made Peter promise that he wouldn't show them to anyone.

There wouldn't be anything wrong in the instant pictures if they wouldn't have decided to kiss in the last one. Peter did it and Quentin didn't stop him.

They sat on the beach. And Peter cried like he's been doing lately because the guilt is overwhelming and he doesn't want Quentin to leave again.

Quentin could only hold him against his chest. 

And suddenly it felt as if they were kids again. 

. 

An incident made Quentin question what in the hell he was doing with his life. 

It left him feeling scared, weird and just – _bad._

They almost were caught and if it hadn't been for Peter's dog barking and the front door slamming their lives would have definitely changed right there and then with their secret out of the world and for people to judge. 

Peter assured him that no one was going to be home until late at night, not even the maid. Peter sometimes doesn't get enough and normal stuff wasn't pleasing him as it used to and he wants to _try_ , try being risky, rough or fast. To have adrenaline running through his veins and that's what makes him happy. 

Quentin has never been a kinky, rough guy in bed, but Peter started wanting more and Quentin couldn't deny him but comply –if Peter is getting pleasure and contentment out of something - _whatever_ \- then Quentin is too. 

Ever since Quentin arrived from college Peter has insist in having sex outside their bedrooms, Quentin was skeptical and stubborn about the matter at first, they even had a fight and Peter ended up swearing at him and leaving with Brad, which Quentin is pretty sure they're fucking, and it shouldn't bother him, not at all, but it fucking did. 

So Quentin came to the maybe not so healthy conclusion of doing what Peter wanted in order for him to just stay with Quentin and only Quentin. 

Quentin is enough and he can give Peter whatever he wants and needs. 

It was Saturday night and they were supposed to be at a party they got invited to. But Peter looked too good and Quentin looked too good –and they couldn't resist. 

Quentin had stripped Peter out of the tight slacks and dress shirt, the same shirt when threw a fit in the dressing room, and Peter told him to fuck him right there in the kitchen where food was still served in the enormous kitchen island. 

Oh, Quentin did.

They fucked dirty and fast. Quentin doesn't like it too rough but he pulled at Peter's hair anyway when he asked Quentin to do so. Peter doesn't like to be fucked from behind too much but Quentin likes to see him like that, so Peter did so. That's why they complement each other so well, they like to please and understand each other. 

It was great. 

Too _fucking_ great.

Peter was gasping quietly and Quentin was panting, he was leaving red fingerprints on the pale skin of Peter's hips as he continuously pulled him back against him. They even tipped over the olive oil and pepper and they both had a laughing fit and kissed passionately. 

It felt good and freeing. They could almost pretend that this house was _theirs_ and that they were living a happily ever after. 

But, no. 

That's not reality. 

This is reality:

"Quentin, you parked your car incorrectly again!" 

A familiar male voice said over the dog barking happily. 

"Oh, my God," Peter gasped and quickly turned around when Quentin almost jumped away, he pushed Peter and hurt him accidentally. 

"Fuck, get dressed," Quentin whisper hastily as he struggled to pull on his jeans while looking at the kitchen door intently. 

"Oh, my God," Peter said again, mortified. He is still panting and almost tripping to get dressed like Quentin, "What do we do, Beck?" 

Peter paled when he heard the voices and steps coming towards the kitchen. Quentin took a shaky breath and watched Peter trying to fix the mess they made on the table. 

"Beck–"

"It's okay," He grabbed both sides of Peter flushed face briefly, "Hey, it's okay." 

"Did they heard–" 

"Go to the patio and wait there. I'll talk to them but they can see you like this or they'll know something's up," Quentin was already opening the sliding door and pulling at Peter's wrist. 

Peter's eyes were wet when he nodded and disappeared outside, his shirt still undone; that made Quentin look down at himself and finish buttoning his shirt when he did it, he wasn't alone in the kitchen anymore. He felt his heart against his throat but he forced a smile and to calm himself down. 

"H-hey!" 

"Hey, kid. Where's Peter?" 

"Uh, he left, I think," Quentin crossed his arms nervously. 

"Are you okay?" 

He was being stared at weirdly and preoccupied. 

"Yeah, yeah," Quentin chuckled, "I'm just running late to this party. It's my friend's birthday." 

"Oh, great! Need any money?" 

"It's okay, thanks, T–" 

"Come help with the groceries!" 

"You heard her. Come help and then you'll be free." 

Quentin forcefully returned the smile he was given. Guilt and relief invaded his soul when no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary or Quentin's unfixed clothing or Peter's 'absence'. He doesn't know if it is okay if he sometimes wishes someone walking upon them doing _anything_ they're not supposed to do, to be caught and to release that nagging pressure in his chest from hiding or he just wants that because –

_"That's what exciting, isn't it, Beck?"_

. 

Everything was right for them. 

Until it wasn't. 

. 

The thought came into his head like a snap, sharp, cruel and oh, so _totally_ correctly wise. 

It's been wanting to set for days now since he arrived to his hometown since he started this with Peter even. But, Quentin has been just ignoring it, pretending it isn't that bad when _it is._ He has been in denial and it almost feels like his mind fogs and his heart stops beating at the intensity of it all. He could just forget about it and move on, even if he will be left with scars that will never be erased. 

But he needs closure. He doesn't _want_ it –of course not. 

He would be stupid if he didn't want Peter anymore. But, Quentin needs it, they both need this closure. They need healthy and _normal_ even if it will hurt to grow apart. 

God, Quentin hopes they don't grow apart. 

He couldn't contain himself and wait to find a better opportunity to discuss it with Peter. He was frustrated and annoyed at himself, he has been holding back from crying because he hates to cry and he had to take his anger out on Peter like he tends to do and hates himself for it. 

Peter entered his room, being quiet and tiptoeing, the house wasn't for themselves anymore, they needed to be invisible and silent. 

Quentin's bed shifted under Peter's weight and he thought for a brief second that he could maybe pretend to be asleep but he couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes, he just stared at the ceiling as Peter laid on his side and placed his arm on Quentin's chest. 

The familiar scent and touch shouldn't calm him but it did. 

They were sharing a pillow and Peter sighed in contentment. Quentin still was unmoving. 

"I can't sleep." 

Peter's soothing voice and the kiss that was about to be placed on Quentin's mouth brought him out of his trance. 

Quentin twisted his head and lifted the arm off his chest carefully. 

"What is it?" Peter frowned, he tried to hug Quentin again but was pushed away nonetheless. 

"Peter," He started slowly as if his throat was hurting.

"Beck–" He tried to come closer again but Quentin quickly sat up. 

There was silence for almost a minute, Quentin was rubbing his face in frustration while Peter sat in front of him, giving him a confused expression. When he touched Quentin's shoulder, hurt flashed through his eyes when Quentin acted as if he was being burned and got further away from Peter.

Quentin looked at him sharply. 

"We need to stop," His voice cracked at the end, "We _are_ going to stop."

"Why?" The boy's frown deepened. 

"You know why," It was a quiet mumble, it almost passed unnoticed. 

"What did I do?"

"You did nothing, Pete," He sighed, "It's just how it is."

"We don't have to stop," Peter assured him with a soft smile, it seemed forced. It scared Quentin. Peter started to crawl towards him and stopped at a decent distance, giving him space. 

"We do –We _will_." 

Peter let out a loud laugh, it made him cover his mouth with his palm, "You always fucking say that before you leave." 

Anger flew through Quentin's veins, "Well, this time I fucking mean it." 

"You're funny," Peter laughed again, sarcastically, almost hysterically. 

"I'm serious, Peter." 

He never calls him Peter. Or, at least, he seldom does, only when Quentin is pissed off or Peter is being stubborn –To him, Peter is Pete, Petey, and baby under the sheets– but still, it takes a lot for him to call him _Peter_. It didn't felt right rolling off his tongue, it felt bizarre and very, _very_ wrong. It felt like the end and worse than them holding a relationship and fucking in secret. Peter looked mortified and Quentin was sure he himself did too. 

"You don't mean it," Peter shook his head fastly, "You don't –" 

"I do, it's time and I want you to act like the adult you swear you are."

It's hilarious Quentin is saying that. He doesn't recognize himself as an adult nowadays and he barely behaves like one or makes decisions like one but he needs to put on this fake facade because he could already see the spoiled tantrum Peter wanted to give, with the flushed cheeks, unstopping tears, flaring arms, hits to Quentin's chest and yells. 

But, nothing came.

Not even a sob or sniff. 

Peter stayed looking down, in silence, he played with his own fingers and sat crossed leg in front of Quentin. They weren't moving. Peter looked tiny, his body swam in Quentin's college sweatshirt, his curls were frizzy and his lip was pouting. 

Suddenly, Quentin felt the tingling in his eyes and he had to look down too. 

"You leave tomorrow," Peter whispered. 

"I-I know." 

"Can I stay the night here at least?" Peter's voice was small, broken and hopeful. He reached over and tried to hug him again, it was innocent and sweet. But Quentin stood up and pointed at his locked door. 

It pained Quentin physically and mentally; he forced himself to speak firmly and meanly. 

"No. Leave." 

It took a moment of Peter just staring blankly at him before as if he was trying to figure out the joke of it all. Then, with careful and unhurried limbs, he stood up and walked away from Quentin, he didn't turn to look back at him or beg. He looked numb. He continued. It was so quiet that Peter's feet stepping into the wood were heard. 

Three tears rolled from Quentin's eyes when the door was slammed. 

. 

Quentin impulsively ripped apart the photos they took at Coney Island in a rage that blinded his eyes before he could regret it he threw them to his garbage bin and hoped for that awful feeling to go away. 

He hoped he would have never done this and allow Pete in his life like this but at the same time, he is so glad he did.

He didn't sleep that night, wishing he had kept the pictures and Peter. 

. 

The parting morning was hazy and weirdly calm in a way. 

While his luggage was already by the door, breakfast was already waiting for him at the kitchen island. His mom cooked and he hugged Quentin tight, saying how much he will miss him. 

Everyone was there but Peter. 

"Did you have fun here, kiddo?" Tony asked, patting Quentin's back and serving him coffee. 

Quentin hummed. The pancakes didn't even have a flavor, nothing does anymore, he can't taste and enjoy, his mind won't let him. 

"Peter did too," His mom chuckled. 

"That's right, he wouldn't leave your side," Tony smiled widely, "He has always admired his older brother." 

Quentin looked down. Fist clenched, clenching teeth. 

"Maybe he could visit you? College is just three hours away." 

"Sure," He said to his mom. 

Tony sighed and patted Quentin's hand, he spoke carefully, "Thank you for not pushing him away, kiddo." 

Quentin nodded clumsily.

He stood up and finished the orange juice to cauterize his burning throat. He gave his parents a kiss on the cheek and said how late he was already, it was a lie and they believed it, just how they have believed everything he and Peter had said to them. Because they're good and splendid to their eyes. 

He wondered why his throat was aching so much but then he understood why when he burst out in tears when he locked himself in the bathroom and drowned his scream in a perfectly white towel. His pathetic reflection stared back at him with a numb glare as he wondered, wondered and wondered. 

Where is Peter? He wants to see Peter. His Peter. His baby. His sin and wrong. He wants _his_ Peter. 

He never showed up and Quentin left.

Empty and broken.

Because that's what they will ever be –just brothers.

. 

When Quentin arrived to his dorm room, he started pulling everything out from his luggage, just as he pulled out his college sweatshirt that didn't remember packing, a piece of paper fell out. 

It landed on his foot and he bent over to pick it up. 

It was the untouched copy of the photos they got taken in Coney Island. It was Peter's copy. Because Quentin's is long gone. And now Quentin didn't know what to do. 

He sat on his bed with a heavy huff and rested his elbows on his thighs. He looked at the photos, he didn't stop. He caressed Peter's printed face with his index finger and flipped the thin paper. 

The back of it read:

_Don't forget us._

_Love, Peter._

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to read some feedback :)


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